


the quiet dawn

by chanterie



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-06-04
Packaged: 2018-04-02 21:16:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4074160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chanterie/pseuds/chanterie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the morning after alistair and laoise cousland sleep together for the first time is a moment of peaceful, quiet intimacy. it's a strange and wonderful thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the quiet dawn

**Author's Note:**

> i wanted to write unrepentant fluff, so this happened.

Fingers skim over her spine in a ghost of a touch. Laoise shivers, rolling her shoulders to displace the ticklish feeling, and shoves her face into her pillow. Beside her, Alistair chuckles quietly, palm resting fully on the small of her back.

“Did you know,” he asks, voice rough with sleep, “That you snore?”

Laoise tilts her head out of the welcoming firmness of her pillow just enough to be able to glare at him. He laughs at that, the asshole.

“I’m serious! It’s a quiet sort of snore. Kind of adorable, really.” He smooths his hand over her back in what she guesses is a comforting gesture. Either that, or he’s just as amazed as she was last night that all that bare skin was hers to touch, to hold, to caress however she liked.

With a sigh, Laoise wiggles closer to him until she can loop her arms around Alistair’s waist. “You’re lucky I love you,” she grumbles. He just presses a kiss to her cheek in reply, holding her close.

They stay like that for a moment, wrapped up in each other and enjoying the quiet as dawn barely begins to peek over the horizon. Soon enough, they’ll have to face the world outside their tent again. But for a little while, they have peace.

“I didn’t--” Alistair breaks the silence finally, “I didn’t hurt you last night, did I?”

Laoise shakes her head. “It pinched a bit, but... No.” She doesn’t mention the dull ache that she can feel in her thighs. It’s similar enough to the ache she would get from the days she and Ser Gilmore would take their mounts and Mistral out hunting that she can guess what, from all they did last night, caused it.

She pulls away from Alistair’s embrace, just enough to get a good look at his chest. “What about you?” she asks, running a finger down a small, raised, pink mark on his chest.

“No!” He replies a little too quickly, face and ears flushing. “That--ah.” Laoise watches the blush crawl down his chest as he clears his throat. “I didn’t mind the, uh. Scratching. Or the biting.”

With a small laugh, she leans in to press a kiss to a small bruise on his collarbone. If she remembers right that was where she latched onto him with her teeth in a desperate attempt to muffle her moans as she--

Right. And now she’s just as flushed as he is. “I’ll have to remember that,” she murmurs.

She stays in his arms for a few heartbeats more. Another kiss is pressed to his chest, and Laoise moves back, sitting up and stretching. Alistair’s gaze is heated as he watches her arch. But he keeps his hands to himself, seemingly content to lay back and watch as she pulls on one of his shirts.

“We should wash up,” Laoise says quietly, rummaging around in her pack for her soap. “And you need a shave. We’ll eat after and then break camp.”

Behind her, Alistair rises and kisses her behind her ear where her jaw meets her neck. “Yes, ma’am.” She tries to ignore the fact that the shiver that runs down her spine comes a beat to late for it to have been from the kiss and not his words.

They gather their things in companionable silence, and share a quick kiss before ducking out of the tent. From his place by the fire, Zevran smirks at them. Laoise throws him a rude hand gesture before lacing her fingers through Alistair’s and tugging her thoroughly embarrassed lover in the direction of the stream just outside camp.

Alistair strips his trousers off and jumps into the stream without a second thought. His yelp tells Laoise everything she needs to know about the temperature of the water. With a small laugh and fond shake of her head, she finds herself a perch on a rock at the edge of the stream. Leaning over, she wets a cloth with the frigid water and lathers it with her soap. Before she can lift it to wipe the dried sweat and other fluids from her skin, Alistair's hands cover hers.

"Let me?" he asks, a soft smile curling at the corners of his lips.

She nods her assent, and he takes the cloth from her suddenly nerveless fingers. He starts at her neck, carefully rubbing the soapy fabric over her skin. It's a strange and wonderful thing. In some ways, it feels almost more intimate than spending the night with him as she did last night. Perhaps, she thinks, it has something to do with how very, very gentle Alistair is as he washes her.

He reaches her toes and, with a wicked smirk, presses a kiss to the instep of her left foot. With a muffled laugh, Laoise yanks her foot out of his grasp and slides off her rock into the stream.

"Alright," she says, reaching for the washcloth. "I believe it's my turn, love."

She washes his front slowly, making note of every spot that makes him shiver, or makes his breath hitch. Then she presses close to him and reaches around him to wash his back. He tangles his fingers in her hair and presses soft kisses to her face. Her breath comes a little quicker, hitching as she tilts her head up to capture Alistair's lips in a heated kiss.

As much as she wants to stay with him, to let him press her against the rocks on the bank and take her until she shivers apart beneath him, they need to get moving soon enough. So she steps back.

"I wasn’t joking about you needing a shave, my dear," she says quietly, cupping his cheek in her palm, "Best do it now while we've a good place to."

Alistair snorts in amusement. His not-quite-a-goatee is getting a bit unkempt and he's got a healthy amount of stubble on his cheeks that she knows is something he finds a little annoying. (Laoise very deliberately doesn't think about how that stubble felt on her inner thighs last night. She doesn't wonder if she can convince him to grow a proper beard someday.)

He wades through the water to his pack and quickly lathers his cheeks. His razor opens with a deft flick of his wrist and then--then Laoise's fingers on his wrist make him pause. The look he throws her is a question, she knows. It makes her hesitate. Bite her lower lip.

"May I?" she asks, gesturing to his face. It just makes him more confused. "It's... it's something my mother did for my father every once in a while. During quiet mornings when there wasn't any pressing business."

Alistair's face softens and he nods, handing her the razor. It takes a moment of arranging to get her at a good angle. She's relatively tall, but he's taller and needs to tip his head back for her to get at his throat. Laoise watches as his eyes flutter shut and his breathing evens out in a way that makes it obvious he's deliberately trying to keep still and calm for her. 

It's been a while since she's used a razor--not since she got fed up with the maintenance that came with having partially shorn hair a few years ago. Even so, the motions are familiar and easy. The slide of the blade against his skin is oddly soothing. Up until she shaves the hair over his pulse and feels it jump beneath the fingers of her other hand. That sends a bolt of heat through her and--no. She can't think about it more. They don't have time. Laoise finishes and wipes the small bits of lather remaining off his face gently. Alistair smiles down at her, and she tilts her head up so she can kiss the tip of his nose.

"I love you," she murmurs, the sound almost swallowed up by the stream. 

Alistair presses a kiss to her forehead. "I love you too."

In that moment, that brief span of peace and quiet and intimacy, Laoise feels for the first time in months that everything will be alright. She wraps her arms around Alistair's middle and rests her head against his chest, soaking in the feeling. 


End file.
